Freestyle SOUL
by Night's Nocturne
Summary: In a city overrun by Rokkaku, the GG's have split up with nowhere to go, forced to comply with the rules set by an oligarchy. They crave to change what's been set in motion, but how are they to overcome it?
1. Spirit Within

**Author's Note:** Jet Set Radio/Future does not belong to me, and all chars are not mine, save for the original characters I created just for this piece of fiction. You might as well grab some popcorn/candy, possibly some liquids, and a comfy chair before you begin, because this is going to be one fucked up ride.

**EDIT 10/21/2012: **Thanks to a lot of fans still interested, this story is being REWRITTEN. Please keep in mind that I am not CHANGING anything, but I am adding TO it because I'm disappointed in the lack of description that I wrote almost six years ago. It will feel much more complete once I am done, now that I actually have a progress in mind. Again, thank you for your understanding, and thank you for your interest! You have no idea how much this means to me. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

**Chapter 1: Spirit Within**

Morning rays crept in from the window, its rays blinding. A grunt came from the figure under the covers, and his arm rose to shove the sheets aside as he sat up, letting a yawn overtake him. He'd hardly gotten any sleep at all thanks to the broadcasts from the higher-ranking police – otherwise known as the Rokkaku, a special team of the police force in Tokyo-to.

In the last three years, the Rokkaku had seized control of the city right under everyone's noses, including all of the graffiti gangs that kept the place "free". It was then that the gangs were forced to separate, having no other option than to flee. They didn't even have a chance to fight; the next thing they knew, they were being surrounded with nowhere to go.

Only a few were caught, while the others hid wherever they could, most merging beautifully into what a 'normie' did. Normies was the slang that the gang members used for normal people, and most were none too happy about the end result – the fact that they couldn't express their freedom in graffiti wherever they liked made some hateful, and lashed out wherever they could.

Getting caught the first time was a slap on the wrist and a hefty fine, most often given to kids who wanted to try it out and instead were urged to steer onto a safer path. The second time was a night in jail, so one could think about their actions. The third time you got beaten within an inch of your life, and left in the slammer until someone remembered you were there.

There were a lot who weren't seen again, who were caught after the third time.

What was truly in someone's soul could not be expressed – it was outlawed. One had to keep it inside, unable to do anything with it until it faded away.

A young adult sat up in his bed, muttering to himself as he reached up to run his fingers through his red hair. His eyes narrowed at the sun as he let out a curse. "Fuck… what time is it?" His hand reached over to grope blindly for his glasses, which he soon found and shoved them on messily in order to be able to see. He then rose from the bed to stumble into the bathroom, weaving through dirty clothes on the floor and not paying them any mind as he crawled tiredly into the shower. The water turned on with ease, and the redhead let it wash over his skin with a sigh.

_Three years, _The redhead thought to himself. _Three long, fucking years._ It still seemed like yesterday when the GG's had broken up, but he had to admit to even himself that getting back together just wasn't happening.

Even the other gangs that had opposed them weren't anywhere to be found; Love Shockers, Immortals, Noise Tanks, Rapid 99… none of them seemed like they even existed in the first place with the way the Rokkaku paraded themselves around in the city.

Even the former Captain Onishima and the current Captain Hayashi acted all buddy-buddy like they had been old pals forever, despite Onishima's demotion and Hayashi replacing his job. Hayashi might have been a tad more insane than Onishima and had a few thumbtacks short of a jar, but he got the job done where Onishima couldn't.

Tobe was sick of it. There was no Professor K, but this was a given – with no gangs, there would be no radio station, but the way even Professor K had just _vanished _and left the radio channel open to nothing but static didn't sit well with the twenty-year old.

"The hell went wrong…?" He muttered, raising his fist and slamming it into the wall, wincing at the fresh pain he'd caused. He'd been the one that was supposed to _watch _the damn group, but he'd fucked up and wasn't there when they needed him the most. Not only did he lose the gang, but he lost his best friend in the process.

He hadn't seen head nor hair of the kid, and the kid was the youngest and quite possibly the best that the GG's had, especially when they wanted to get into places that no one else seemed to be able to manage. He was the best liar, and came up with the most intriguing plans…

Heaving a sigh, the redhead rested his head against the wall of the shower, letting the droplets fall down, not caring that the water was scalding hot. He was numb to the pain now, just like he was numb to everything else.

His current job he'd landed in a short notice, as they were in dire demand of an errand boy. Tobe didn't have the heart to leave, but upon further thought, he really didn't care, due to the fact of just being numb to everything. He wasn't happy, but he wasn't sad, either. He just existed. His employer cut him a lot of slack, but Tobe found that walking to work just wasn't the same as skating, and he didn't get his normal high off of it.

Idly, at times, he would look to the side and imagine an old gang member was there, waving… but once he blinked, the image went away, leaving him to curse his mind for playing tricks on him.

Shutting off the water, Tobe grabbed a towel and rubbed his hair vigorously, pausing and cursing at himself for forgetting to use shampoo. He didn't feel like showering again, and shrugged it off, not deeming it worth it. Today was his day off, and he'd deal with it tomorrow.

Tobe jumped as the phone rang, a look of surprise crossing his face before he walked over to pick it up, his tone dull.

"Yo. Ya need me to work t'day, boss?" He winced, thinking of Yoyo when he'd said that word. He hadn't heard it from anyone but himself in so long, but he'd made it a habit simply to remember the best friend he had.

"Beat, right..?" The voice breathed over the phone, and the redhead instantly tensed, not recognizing the feminine voice at all. The only one who had his number was his boss, and it set Tobe on high alert. He hadn't been called that name in years, having gone by his real name for quite a while.

"If this is some kind of sick joke…" Tobe – Beat, he corrected himself – was shaking badly. Had the cops found him, after all these years, to jail him for something he did years ago? He cursed himself for being so stupid and not looking into the laws, but he didn't want anything to do with the police after the GG's had broken up.

"No joke." Muttered the voice, and the speaking stopped. Beat pressed his ear closer to the phone, trying to listen, only to hear the receiver _laughing. _His eyes widened in shock and rage.

"I've got work to do, so if you're _quite _done with this fucking prank call–"

"I assure you, Beat… this is very much worth your time. And if I were you, I'd skip work today. It just so happens that I know where your best friend is…" Freezing in place, Beat hissed into the phone.

"If you're fucking joking, I swear–"

"Downtown. Be there. You won't be disappointed." The phone clicked, and the receiver fell into a long beeping sound, clearly stating that the phone call had been disconnected. Clenching the phone tightly in his hand, Beat slammed the phone down on the receiver. He fumed silently at it, breathing hard. He tore his glasses off and threw them across the room, not bothering to look at where they'd landed.

"Fuck!" Collapsing to the floor, Beat clutched his head, his blue eyes wide with frustration and realization. It was a trap, he just knew it; there was no way someone would call about information unless it was some godawful way to get him cornered, or for some payback of god knew what.

Beat had to get out. Had to walk. He didn't _dare _use his blades, but as he stood up in thought, he paused at the door. His eyes shifted over to the closet, and his feet led him over to it, his hands opening the door of their own accord.

He felt like he was in a dream.

Leaning over to dig through a pile of junk, Beat found that his rollerblades were still there, buried treasure under other shit he didn't care about. He half fell, half sat on the ground, sliding his bare feet into the shoes, a slow smile crossing his face at the familiar feel of them.

They still fit.

Sliding it off for the moment, Beat whirled to the drawers and grabbed his old clothes, shoving them on messily, not caring that they were a little bit tighter fitting than they had been three years ago. He'd put on some muscle as well as some weight, but he figured he could take chances, just this once. Forgo all sense of responsibility and just let his soul fly _free._

They wouldn't be expecting it.

Running to his skates, Beat took his time in putting them on, humming to himself happily as he reveled in the thought that his blades had been waiting for him all this time.

"Sorry, you know how it is…" He muttered to them as if they were long lost friends, shaking his head as he grinned wide. Talking to inanimate objects may have been insane in some eyes, but on the streets before the Rokkaku shit went down, your blades were your life. Going without them meant that you denied yourself the very meaning of freedom, denied yourself the ability to soar.

Standing in his skates, Beat turned his body slightly to test them out, sliding backwards, then forwards. He knew that with years of non-practice, one was bound to be bad, but he still had to skate. His soul _yearned _for it.

An hour later, Beat strode over to the window a bit clumsily, having gotten enough feel for them to be comfortable. He opened the window, climbing onto the sill and glancing down at the sturdy pipes that ran down to the streets, his mind made up.

He paused a moment, blinking at the blurry vision before remembering that he needed his glasses to see. In his excitement, he'd forgotten, and now retreated back into his room and searched another ten minutes until he found them. Beat shoved them back onto his face, climbing once again on his sill and putting one foot on the pipes.

The redhead thought about closing the window, then decided against it; it would make for a better entrance in case he needed to hide quickly, to get off the streets and back into his room and act like nothing had happened.

Honestly, he wasn't expecting the Rokkaku to be ready for something like this; they had gotten lazy as of late, considering that there were no rival gangs to help improve their infantry.

Blue eyes shifted over the slow traffic below, his lazy smirk returning with ease. He pushed himself from the windowsill onto the pipes, grinding down the rail until he reached the streets, gaining momentum. At the end of the pipes, he jumped, turning a 360 naturally, landing a bit wobbly but enough to stay upright on his feet.

It wasn't pretty, but he was now dancing to his own rhythm… soaring on air.


	2. Act of Expression

**Chapter 2: Act of Expression**

It had been a long day of serving rude customers and their ilk, and to be perfectly honest, the blonde was sick of it. She stood in front of yet another disgusted pair, tablet in hand while she pressed the edge of the pen to the corner of her lips, trying not to look disdainful as the customers flippantly turned their noses up at the selection on the menu.

"Is this _all _you have for your selection?" The female murmured, glowering at the blonde waitress. Her long fingernails clicked on the edge of the table, bordering on annoyance. "For how fancy you were with the others, you certainly aren't being helpful with _me_."

"Now, Marle, can you not cause a disruption in at least _one _restaurant?" The man whispered frantically, leaning over to her. "I've heard good things about this place from my coworkers. Can you _please _just order something nicely?" The woman snapped her head to him, her sullen look bordering on anger for just a moment. She finally sighed in compliance and flipped up the menu to gaze over it.

"I'll have the Chateau Mouton Rothschild. 1982." Slapping the menu down, the woman glared over at her husband, her lips pressed in a fine line.

"And you, sir?" The waitress asked, smiling as his eyes glanced up to her. She shifted slightly, revealing a bit of her thigh in the short white dress she had to wear. Her smile was plastered on as if she had no idea what she was doing, seeming cute and oblivious. The man seemed to perk up at this, his own lips curving into a smile.

"I'll order the Roast Peking Duck for both of us. Thank you." Taking his wife's menu, he handed them to the waitress. She gave a slight bow, beaming all the more.

"Your order will be ready shortly. Thank you, kind patrons." She skittered off to deliver the order, pausing to speak to the chef. She knew there would be no other customers for a while. The dinner rush had died long ago.

"Still holdin' that der smile, ah see." The cook chuckled, grinning at her expression.

"That bitch is going to jump me, I swear." She leaned against the counter, rubbing her forehead in exasperation.

"Ye'd make ah gewd aktriss." The cook smiled at her with a toothless grin, and she was unable to resist smiling in return.

"Thanks, but it's not really my style. Faking smiles hurts, after a while."

"Ya get 'em, Alli." The cook nodded in understanding, taking the order and starting on the food.

"Thanks, Mark."

Alli, the cook's shortened special name for her, walked into the cellar shaking her head. She'd introduced herself as Allison when she first started, but the chef and her had gotten along famously, even if he did have a slight speech impediment where he couldn't talk right. It didn't make him any less intelligent, just different. Very few times did she have to ask him to clarify things, and often times she had to 'translate', but she didn't mind, and Mark didn't seem to mind either.

Looking around, Allison finally spotted the 1982 wine the woman had ordered, picking it up with gentle care.

"Expensive, but if she wants to pay that much…" Allison couldn't help but shake her head. "More than my paycheck. How do people afford these things?" She bit her lip, walking back up the stairs slowly so as to not break the wine. She then went to grab a bucket of ice and two glasses, setting the wine gently in the ice. She carried them expertly and set them on the table, providing a glass in front of each patron, her fake but happy smile plastered on her face.

Taking a step back, Allison bowed, knowing there was no point in making the lady angry. The best tips were provided by the best possible service, even if some customers deserved a good kick in the rear.

Glancing over and noticing a group at a table that had apparently just sat down, Allison inclined her head once more before heading over to the new group, taking out her pad.

"My apologies for not seating you myself." She gave a smile, glancing over the patrons with ease. Most looked to be wealthy men in tuxedos, but one stood out from the rest, looking to be in a brown work jacket and blue jumpsuit, and an indiscernible hat that made his nose seem bigger than it was.

Allison had to catch her breath, faltering just slightly. She caught herself, her pen skittering across the paper while her heart beat in her throat.

"You guys, this place is so _expensive…_" The out-of-place man stated, looking around warily.

"Don't sweat it, man!" One of the other suits cried heartily, slapping him on the back. "We'll pay tonight for your breakthrough." The others laughed, making the first one's face redden in embarrassment. He reached up to take off his hat, revealing honey colored hair.

"What would you like?" Allison asked, putting a hand on her hip to keep it from trembling, her smile faltering. Why was he here, of all places? Why _now_?

"We'll have your finest dinner." He paused, smiling. "Three of them. Can you split them as well?" The man speaking glanced up as the honey-haired man stood up, his palms on the table.

"I really don't have time to eat, you guys…" He murmured softly, bowing his head apologetically. "I thank you, but I really should be working…"

Allison bowed, walking away from the conversation and striding into the kitchen, unable to keep from smiling. She delivered the order to Mark, who raised an eyebrow in return at her sudden shift of attitude. He didn't comment on it, but merely shook his head with a chuckle, waving her off to attend to them again.

Allison stopped in mid stride, eyes widening as she caught a part of the conversation amongst the gentlemen.

"That hunk of junk can wait! RoBoy, wasn't it? He's an old model, I don't see why you're trying to fix him up!" Allison froze, her entire body locking up as she dropped the empty tablet on the ground. It _was _him. It was her Cornflower, her co-founder, her friend that she had no idea was alive or not.

Dropping the tablet had caught the honey-haired man's attention, and he turned to pick it up, freezing as well once he stared at her, recognition in his own eyes. He was about to open his mouth to speak, but was rudely interrupted by the first customer, her voice high enough to peel paint from walls.

"HEY! This is NOT what I ordered! Your cheapass knockoff doesn't taste a damn thing like the real thing!" The first customer was obviously very drunk, standing and waving her hands as she ignored her husband who was trying to get her to sit back down without a commotion. He wasn't very successful, and the reward he got for his efforts was a slap to the face. He sat down with a sullen look, staring away from her to the side, abashed and embarrassed beyond belief.

Now enraged from being ignored by the waitress and her husband's actions, the customer drew back her hand and threw the wine bottle at Allison. It smashed into pieces, splashing onto Allison's white shoes and ankles. The waitress kept her calm, her anger in her eyes despite her cool and calm demeanor.

"Perhaps you would like a different variety?" She offered, having to bite her lip to keep from screaming. "I assure you, that is what our vendor gave us. It is brand name, I assure you." Allison walked towards the woman, disregarding the broken glass as she walked over it with a satisfying crunch; she would pick it up in a moment.

"You bitch, you think I care? I _know _what I like, and this is _not _what I ordered!" The woman snarled and lunged at the waitress, grabbing the top part of her dress and starting to tear it. Allison stood there, gently grasping the woman's wrist and attempting to stop her. Her strength was underestimated. Instead of prying her off, she successfully shoved the woman off of her enough to throw her on the ground, receiving a shriek of defiance.

"I'm never coming back here again!" The woman threatened, hissing between her teeth.

"I'm very sorry to hear that, but who wants your ilk here anyway?" Allison felt a surge of satisfaction within her as she said it, unable to keep her anger at bay anymore. Her shoes were ruined, as was her dress, but it couldn't be helped – she didn't have any money to replace them.

Allison glanced up in surprise as a brown jacket was placed over her shoulders, covering her exposed skin. She stared up with chocolate eyes, confusion replacing her satisfaction. Behind her stood her Cornflower, her apparent knight in shining armor.

He shook his head at the couple, disdain in his voice as he spoke.

"I suggest you leave, before the Onrio Company decide to dislike your behavior of our favorite restaurant and waitress." The woman stopped, deadpanning as she looked at her husband. Her husband merely looked forlorn.

"I'll meet you at the car." He told his wife, standing up and gathering their belongings. The woman stood up and shakily ran as best she could, leaving her husband behind. The husband shook his head again and walked over to Allison, reaching into the woman's purse and pulling out two one-hundred bills.

"I'm sorry for the trouble. She's incorrigible…" He sighed, watching as Allison took the money. "For the dinner."

"Let me get your change," Allison murmured, turning to leave.

"No need." She stopped in place, staring at him. "Really. For having to put up with her, the rest is your tip." He smiled softly, his face seeming younger with his smile.

"I'm sorry," Allison blurted out, unable to help herself.

"Me too." The man grinned wider, shaking his head.

"What's your name?"

"Jack." He raised an eyebrow. "And I'm guessing by your nametag… Allison." He gave a small salute. "I'll see you around." Jack turned to leave, and Allison couldn't help but turn red at feeling Corn's fingers resting on her shoulders.

"I'll… be right back." She almost ran to the back, grabbing a broom and taking care of the mess, dumping it in the garbage before going to talk to Mark.

"Do you have change for a hundred?" She smiled as he gathered the change, and she handed him a fifty with ease, the rest of the money paying for the couple's dinner. To her surprise, Mark shook his head, pushing the money at her.

"Ya's allus been fair, Miss Alli. But ya need that for yerself." He leaned over the counter and pointed at her shoes, then nudged her nose with his finger. "Ah'll take care o'the rest. Have a goo'night." Giving her a hearty smile, Mark ushered her off with a hand.

The gentleman waiting outside glanced back to his companions, rubbing the back of his neck. They waved him on to make his move, but he only blushed in reply and looked away. He had gotten out of eating dinner with his work buddies, and was meaning to walk this Allison to her home anyway. At least they were all for it.

He glanced up as the waitress walked back out, clutching the coat in a rather cute way. "Can I, uh… walk you home?" He asked, a bit loud. He was nervous, and his voice carried to his companions, who gave a thumbs up for the poor guy.

"Yes." Allison breathed out. "I'm sorry about the dinner. I'm sure if you talk to the cook, you might be able to get a discount, or get it for free–" She stopped as he shook his head, raising his hands.

"No, it's quite fine. If it's any assurance, we come to this place a lot. Well, I don't, personally, but…" He was rambling, and started walking in pace alongside of hers. He grinned as she giggled, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Sorry. I don't do this often. You just… remind me of someone I was…" His face was entirely beet red now. "… never mind, it's not important. Heh."

"What's your name?" Allison asked, giggling again.

"Everyone calls me Tab." He reached up to tip his hat to her, stopping as he realized it wasn't on his head. "Shit. Forgot my hat."

"Do you want to go back and get it?"

"No, it's fine. My work buddies'll drop it off." He grinned at her, unable to stop glancing sideways at her. Allison thought it was cute, and felt her feelings overwhelm her; she wasn't sure if she should tell him that she knew him, tell him that she was Gum, but… she wanted to _enjoy _this small moment in time, this giddy Tab that she never got to see before.

It wasn't long before they reached her small apartment, and Tab reached down to take her hand, kissing the back of it gently. Allison colored, her cheeks hot as she stared at him with mixed expressions.

"May I see you again, soon?" All Allison could do in reply was nod dumbly, watching as he gave a low bow and walked away. She opened her door and entered her apartment, shutting her door behind her and leaning against it as she stared at her nearly bare abode, her heart beating a mile a minute in her chest and throat.

She still loved him, after all this time.


	3. Contradiction

**Chapter 3: Contradiction**

"OH YEAH!" A shrill, male voice rang out, though it could barely be heard over the squealing tires on the paved street. A group of males hunkered loosely around fancy cars, smirking and laughing amongst themselves with ease as they watched other racecars skid around in a closed-circuit loop.

This was widely known as the Underground, but the cops had rarely found anyone – the Underground had enough scouts and spies to warn them when the police were coming, and had always gotten away scot free.

Standing aside a little ways away from the group was a long haired redhead, pulling his hair back into a ponytail and grimacing slightly at its length. He had a good build, and knew it by the way the females looked at him, but he wasn't one to flaunt it – he had a good reputation as a fair teammate and was known as a definite daredevil at taking risks in races.

He watched the cars drive around the track with a wide smirk that one could describe as creepy, his adrenaline pumping at each roundabout turn the speedy vehicles took. It wasn't long before a red racecar with a yellow stripe took the lead by inches, the race clearly at an end. The vehicles stopped, all of the drivers getting out and showing off as the crowd cheered, raising their arms and pointing at themselves as if telling the crowd that yes, they _were_ all that.

The winner of the race approached the redhead and sneered in his face, haughty and proud. "Try beating _that,_ Spence." The teenager was fairly short, his light ebony skin clashing with his fluffy green hair that he couldn't quite tame. His clothing consisted of a large jacket with the katakana 'Yo-yo' sported across his chest, and yellow fingerless gloves that actually went well with his skin tone.

The crowd moaned and gasped, chittering at the challenge, knowing that the long-haired redhead was the current King of the Track. After a year of proving himself. no one had beaten his score in two years.

"That's Spencer to you, newbie. Shall I show you a pro at his best, once again?" The crowd chattered again, watching as the redhead shoved lightly past the kid, walking to the red and yellow-striped car. He climbed into it with ease, shutting the door, smirking as the younger teen crossed his arms with a grumpy face.

Once the door was securely shut, Spencer lifted his hands and exhaled, smoothing his fingers out onto the leather of the wheel. His agile fingers flitted to the ignition key, turning it to hear the wonderful purr of his vehicle, his baby that he so treasured.

His shining moment was short lived.

Sirens broke the tense air, wailing in the night as tires screeched into the large garage, police cars starting to surround the place. The crowd instantly scattered, leaving stragglers to try to fend for themselves.

Spencer rolled down the window as the green-haired teen ran over to him, slight worry on his face. He gave the boy a lazy smile.

"Don't worry, kiddo. They know I'm the leader, so they'll follow me. You just make sure that you don't get caught. I'll meet you at home." He winked at the kid, feeling fond for him and hoping that nothing would happen, but the boy was in Fate's hands now. Rolling up the window, Spencer's fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly as he revved the engine, taking off with a squeal.

"Let's hope the Rokkaku aren't a part of this. If so, we have a score to settle, yo." Spencer's eyes darkened as he raced out the opening they hadn't blocked off yet, a low hiss escaping through his lips. "Weren't satisfied with my parents, yo?" He winced, trying to curb his anger. It wasn't often that he let his anger slip, but when it did, his close friends noticed when he started to drop the _yo _pronunciation in his sentences.

Cop cars whirled to try to follow his car, attempting to keep close, but Spencer shifted gears and sped up, intent on giving the police a show of a lifetime. He sped up and shifted into fourth gear, barely making corners and rolling down alleyways before merging onto the main street, narrowly missing a turning car and getting flipped the finger in return.

Spencer only let out a low chuckle, not believing his good luck before he rolled down the window, turning to yell out of it. "YO! Try getting me now, fuckers!" He couldn't help but laugh at his good fortune, his eyes turning back to the road. He uttered a curse word as his eyes widened, foot slamming on the break uselessly.

_WHAM._

Something rolled off of his hood, and Spencer could have sworn he saw a flash of skates and a body roll off to the side. _Shit shit shit, _he thought, stopping the car and forgetting to hit the clutch. The car sputtered and died, but he was too worried about someone being injured, dashing out of his vehicle to help the poor sod who'd gotten in his way.

"Yo kid, you a'ight?" Spencer walked over and knelt down by the redhead, grimacing and biting his lower lip as he stared. The kid was completely out. He hoped he wasn't worse than he looked.

But then again, he didn't look all that good to begin with.

Glancing up at the damage to his car, Spencer winced. Cars could be fixed, but humans were another matter entirely. He bent over to pick up the kid, careful to handle him gently before walking over and putting him in the passenger's seat. He buckled him in and got into the driver's seat once more, shoving his seatbelt on and attempting to start the car. It whirred and chuffed lazily, protesting the misuse of Spencer letting it die.

"_Yoyo?_" The short-haired redhead groaned as he attempted to move, looking confused at the seatbelt that held him in place.

"Shut up, kid. No one's stupid enough to blade in front of open traffic. _What were you thinking, yo_?" This guy seriously pissed him off. Had it not been for him, he would have been a long ways away from the cops at this point.

Damn Fate and her luck.

"C'mon baby, work for me. I'm sorry, really. Pretty please?" Spencer half whined, breathing a sigh of relief once his vehicle decided to start. He put her into first gear and drove forward, only to come across a Rokkaku car blocking the exit.

Rokkaku cars were built a bit more sturdy than regular cop cars, but what made them more dangerous was that they outfitted them with weapons and artillery.

This was a recent development that Spencer found out the hard way.

"Yoyo…" His new companion whimpered again, attempting to gather his wits about him. It was obvious that he was in a lot of pain, and Spencer felt a pang of guilt at that.

"The name's Spencer, kid." He replied, earning a glazed look from his new companion. Spencer hissed, shifting the car into reverse and attempting to back out in the other direction, but found that he'd been blocked there, as well.

"_For fuck's sake._" Spencer cried, exasperated. He threw the door open, murmuring a small apology to his vehicle, darting over to the passenger's side and unbuckling his companion, picking him up and helping him to stand.

"Sorry for the impromptu pain, but we really have no choice." Spencer glanced up and bit his lip hard enough to bleed, eyes narrowing at the Rokkaku surrounding them. "We're in quite a predicament, and I _know _I didn't have _that _many cops after my ass." He glanced towards the short-haired redhead, an eyebrow raised incredulously.

"They just caught me offguard, is all. S'all." He replied, jerking as he attempted to keep his head from swimming. "That's all."

"Hey kid, what's your name?" Spencer winced at the state of his newfound companion, knowing it was his fault; if he hadn't gotten caught up in showing off, none of this would have happened.

"Aran. Tobe Aran." He stopped, thinking. "No, that's not… s'not… Beat. Beat…?" He pushed his glasses up on his nose, staring at Spencer with a lost expression.

Spencer silently swore at himself, guilt riding his mind, and something also nagging at him. He seemed like he was his old friend, but shook the thought from his mind. The kid was delirious, and he would have been fine if he hadn't hit him. He had to be honest with himself, however – it wasn't entirely his fault.

They were surrounded by Rokkaku now, and Spencer swore to himself, knowing he'd hear about it when he got home from the little twerp that roomed with him. The Rokkaku weren't moving. _Why?_ He tensed until he found a figure coming into view, the Rokkaku parting to let him through.

"Hayashi," Spencer hissed, drawing back and looking _beyond _pissed off.

Tobe glanced to where Spencer was looking, drawing back slightly. Why was Hayashi here? He grimaced, his thoughts muddled as he leaned against the wall. He was skating, he ran into Rokkaku… he was in deep trouble. He'd been caught. Now, when he looked up at Spencer, he couldn't help but notice how familiar he seemed.

"Well, well. The famous leader of the drag racing, Spencer." Hayashi let a slow grin creep over his face as he pointed the gun at the long-haired redhead. "Didn't think I'd catch you here, as I was chasing someone else…" His eyes slowly slid down to regard Tobe with cool eyes, then back to Spencer. "Alas, my Rokkaku are loyal." He grinned, sliding a foot forward to stance himself.

Tobe's grimace remained as he thought. Hayashi he knew all too well; he was the main one who broke up the GG's in the first place, keeping them separated and unable to go anywhere else. He watched as Spencer slid in front of the pointed gun, blocking him from view.

"What are you doing?" He hissed, reaching up to put a hand on his throbbing head. Everything _hurt_.

"It's not like you can fight." Spencer retorted calmly, tilting his head back a small bit to glance at Tobe. "Next time, try not to jump in front of cars. Especially when they're moving."

"Fuck you," Tobe hissed between his teeth, low enough for only Spencer to hear. He couldn't help but notice Spencer's grin, which looked so familiar, that he couldn't quite place…

"Run, my little ducklings. Run, run, run away." Hayashi chuckled with a devil's grin, ignoring the looks from the other Rokkaku as he waved his gun towards the exit. A few Rokkaku moved out of the way, making a path for the two to take.

"Run run run! The chase is more fun!" Neither of the boys gave Hayashi a second look before both of them darted towards the opening, surprisingly getting through without any effort. It was apparent they were to be chased, not just baited.

"Man's crazy," Tobe muttered, limping and wincing as he skated beside the other redhead's jogging pace.

"You don't skate very well, do you?" Spencer stated, rounding the corner and grabbing Tobe, darting behind a large dumpster. He put a finger over his lips, ignoring Tobe's incredulous glare.

"I can skate just fine–" Spencer's hand clamped over his mouth, cutting him off right as he heard Rokkaku feet run by.

"Stupid, STUPID! I wanted a chase, not for them to disappear!" They both heard Hayashi throw a fit, stomping on the ground in annoyance right beside the dumpster they hid behind. "Spread out! Search everything!" Footsteps ran off, and Spencer dared to move to peer out to see if it was clear.

"GOTCHA!" The gun fired, and Spencer slammed back against the wall, his hand pressed to his shoulder. Tobe's head darted up, eyeing the blood seeping through Spencer's fingers with wide eyes.

"Gotta jet, yo." Spencer stated with a shaky voice, his fingers digging into the wound. "Up." He slid up against the wall, glancing down at Tobe, who hadn't moved. "Get up! We gotta go!" Not waiting for an answer, Spencer darted out, looking at Hayashi who was attempting to reload his gun. He bent down, lifting his foot slightly and pressing a button on the side, watching as his shoes shifted into custom-made skates, the wheels black with yellow and green stripes. He did the same with the other shoe, then glanced up just in time to spot Hayashi aiming his gun.

Spencer jumped up at the man, knocking him on the ground and making his weapon fire uselessly in the air. He skated over to Tobe, taking him by the arm and picking him up with ease.

"What are you doing!?"

"Hold on. We're gonna get out of here, and since you're in no condition to skate…" He shifted his weight and skated out of the vicinity of Hayashi, finding a downhill curve and taking it in stride. Tobe's arms clenched tightly around Spencer's shoulders, making him clench his teeth, unable to do anything but ignore the pain.

"Where'd you get your blades?" Tobe asked, his chin resting on Spencer's bad shoulder, unable to keep his curiosity down.

"Professional secret. Sorry, kid." Spencer had to thank Fate for his good luck, for not running into any more Rokkaku. He tapped his feet together, enabling a boost on his skates that propelled them forward, travelling quite a ways until they reached a rather run down garage.

Spencer quickly looked around before pressing on a small square on the lower part of the wall. A hidden door opened and Spencer slid in, dropping his companion gently on the ground and shutting the door behind him. Glancing to him confirmed his suspicions; the kid had passed out again. Blood oozed slowly down his arm from his shoulder wound, dripping from his fingertips. He glanced up to see the younger black kid staring at him with his mouth agape.

"How the _hell _did you get shot!?" He nearly screamed, running over to check the wound, practically ripping away the fabric.

"Easy, yo." Spencer slid down against the door, arms encircling the black boy and dragging him down, clinging tightly. "It'll stop in a little bit, yo…"

"Like hell it will. C'mon bro, let me take care of you. You're the only family I got."

"Ku…" Spencer stared at his friend for a long moment, his arms dropping in submission. "Fine." He looked to the side, staring at Tobe. Was this really Beat, his long lost 'best friend'?

He seemed shabby.

"Take care of him first, though."

"But–" Ku started to protest.

"No buts. I mean it." Cool eyes stared at Ku, his face set in a grim line.

"No changing your mind, is there." Ku gave a small sigh, clicking his tongue as he ran to the bathroom to gather supplies.

"I suppose not." Spencer sighed as he raised his good hand, running it through his hair. He didn't realize how much he was shaking until he stared at his blood-ridden hand, not realizing that Ku was back until a cold cloth pressed against his wound. He hissed in reply, nearly screaming through his teeth until his head swam.

The pain stung, the liquid touching his skin bubbling into foam, his squinting eyes watching as Ku dabbed away the foam and blood.

"This is going to hurt, Spencer." Ku murmured softly, picking up a pair of tongs and sliding them into the wound, searching for the bullet to pull out. Spencer's free hand grabbed onto his pants, curling themselves around the fabric as a high whine shuddered from his throat. Ku's face looked relieved as he pulled out a small piece of metal, dropping it into the pile of red cloths by their legs.

"Sorry." Ku bowed his head slightly, grabbing the hydrogen peroxide bottle and dumping it unceremoniously over Spencer's shoulder. _This _time the long-haired redhead screamed, slamming his back against the door as he gritted his teeth.

"_Sonovabitch_!" He hissed, tears leaking out of his eyes. Getting shot hadn't been a problem – his adrenaline had kicked in, blocking the pain until he could just ignore it. But now that he was relaxed, it hurt twice as much as it should have, and the whole ordeal was making him tired.

"Hold on. Almost done." Ku wiped up what was left of the peroxide and blood, grabbing the bandages as quickly as he could before pressing gauze against the wound and wrapping up Spencer's shoulder, taking care to keep it slightly loose, but tight enough to hold the gauze.

Spencer was shaking, his eyes rolling as he fought to keep conscious. "Haven't been… shot in years, yo… hurts like a bitch, yo."

"You're out of it. C'mon bro." Ku shook his good shoulder slightly, worry in his eyes.

"It's okay, yo… I… I got this, yo…" This time, Ku reached up to grab Spencer's chin, drawing him down to look straight into his eyes.

"_Yoyo._" Spencer sighed, keeping his eyes locked onto Spencer's. He didn't use that name very often, but when he did, he meant to be serious. It took Spencer a moment to realize what Ku had said, and he swallowed hard, blinking rapidly.

"Sorry, yo." He swallowed again, hard. "I mean. Sorry. I'm here. I'm good. Really. Just… kinda out of it."

"Do you want me to get Mew?"

"Gods, no." Spencer looked slightly horrified, balking at the idea, his face turning crimson. "No. She'd never let me hear the end of it, and…" Ku couldn't help but smile at Spencer's sudden but inevitable shyness. He'd known for years that Spencer had a crush on Mew, and teased him constantly about it.

A bloody cloth was thrown at Spencer's cheek, breaking the moment. Both Spencer and Ku turned to look at the short-haired redhead, the bloody cloth falling to the floor and leaving a wet splotch on Spencer's cheek.

Staring at them both was Tobe, an angry expression on his face.

"Oh, it looks like you're okay–"

"Shut the _fuck _up, Yoyo." Beat growled, raising his knee and draping his arm over it as he leaned against the wall. "I ought to deck you for that."

"And what makes you think that?" Spencer's eyes shifted, slightly hazy but wary as well. His head was still swimming from the pain, but he attempted to shrug it off.

"How can I _not _figure it out? For fuck's sake, Yoyo, I'm pretty pissed off at you. You were my _best friend. _Do you know how hard it was, having to exist three years without anyone to share anything with? Do you know how long I've searched for you?"

"… not a fucking minute, yo." Beat was taken aback, his mouth agape in shock. "I _watched _you, yo. You didn't bother to look for us, not even _once, _yo." Spencer sucked in a breath, huffing out his nose. "I bet you don't even know where the others are, yo."

"Spencer," Ku spoke softly, but he merely shook his head.

"Are you satisfied in your own apartment, yo? Where you can run back and forth, delivering packages and going to sleep in your nice safe little bed, yo?" He frowned further, his fingers tapping on his leg. "I don't believe you're my best friend anymore, yo. And I'm starting to think… _you never were._"

Beat slouched against the wall, the words hitting home. The comment hurt, but it had a slight ring of truth to it. He couldn't say or do anything against it – Yoyo had some slight truth to the matter.

He could have kept telling himself that he tried, but in reality… he hadn't. He'd been afraid, unlike Yoyo, who was sitting there with a shot shoulder. He'd taken that shot for _him, _and he was sitting here feeling sorry for himself.

"I tried," Beat murmured. "Delivering packages was the only way I knew, and I ignored the calls of the streets… I should have listened, but…"

"Bullshit, yo." Staggering to his feet, Spencer started to walk away.

"Yoyo…"

"The name's Spencer. Not Yoyo. Not anymore, yo." He stopped, taking a breath as Ku's fingers dug into his sides.

"You can stay here for the night. But when morning comes, I want you gone." Spencer didn't wait for an answer, walking off and leaving Beat to wallow in his own thoughts.

"So much to say, so little time…" Beat whispered, staring after them. "If only you'd let me speak…"


End file.
